


A Memory That Will Last

by chucks_prophet



Series: Ready! No? Okay! [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anxious Dean, Benny/Andrea, Benny/Desmond, Bisexual Dean, Bisexual Male Character, Canon Gay Character, Caring Benny, Dancing, Driving, Exes, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, Gay Benny, Holding Hands, Humor, Impala, Inspired by Music, Light Angst, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Prom, Slow Dancing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 01:38:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5608975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No,” Dean decides with a swiftness that would do Han Solo proud, squeezing Benny’s hand, “get your dancing shoes back on ‘cos we’re going to prom whether those heteronormative handjobs like it or not.”</p><p>Sequel to "Ready! No? Okay!" (Can be read alone.)</p><p>Title from Billy Idol's song "Postcards from the Past".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Speed

Dean grips the steering wheel like his life _literally_ depends on it. Like he’s Sandra Bullock’s character in Speed—if he goes any slower than fifty on the freeway or swerves to the right just a little he’ll endanger not only the carpool line, but the entire tristate area.

The bomb ticks with every bead of sweat licking his forehead like a summer rain as he manhandles the accelerator. Billy Idol’s “Flesh for Fantasy” filters through the radio at a parent-advised volume, doing little to ease the torrential tension flooding the Chevy’s interior. The strangled gulp of the boy next to him comes in like an obese man inhaling Cool Ranch Doritos during the screening of Nosferatu.

“Dean?” prods Benny with the gentleness of a mother he never knew, “Do you want me to drive?”

“I’m good,” he replies shakily. He doesn’t have to stray his eyes from the road too long or wear night vision goggles to see the concern dripping from Benny’s blue, crystalline eyes. “I’m good, Scout’s Honor.”

Benny laughs softly, “You don’t seem like the type to stand at attention.”

“No, but I’ve fucked a few Norman Rockwell’s in my day.”

“It’s okay, ya know,” Benny says, “to be nervous, I mean. Prom is… is prom.”

“Thanks, Oscar Wilde.”

“You know what I mean. And don’t worry; I won’t try to put the moves on ya: Scout’s Honor.” It’s not until Dean casts him a suspicious sidelong glance that Benny folds. “I fucked Rockwell’s father.”

“It’s not prom that’s the issue,” Dean murmurs as soft and as quick as a baby’s heartbeat, “or what comes after it, it’s just… it’s my first time publicly voting myself off of the island since I was with Cas and my dad was still alive and everyone knows already, but it’s just not something I—”

Before he can finish, not one, but two warm hands envelope the gear shift—everything Dean said up to that point sucked into a vacuum of space, lost underneath the pressure of his smooth fingers.

Benny runs his thumb over the crease between his index finger and thumb before he musters the courage to speak again: “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Dean can’t see the smile etched in the stuff made of stars across his face, but he can feel it penetrating through his skin. “I’m content jus’ being with you.”

Dean’s voice hitches as a glare from the above road sign reflects across his pensive face, “What would we do?”

“Go to the park, catch a movie—I hear the new Star Wars movie kicks ass.”

“How did you know I like Star Wars?”

“Remember that time I interviewed you for street talk,” Benny says, blushing Begonias, “and I asked you what movie universe you’d choose to live in and why? You said ‘Star Wars because it’s my brother’s favorite and—”

“I’d use the pelvic force on Leia and Luke,” Dean finishes, laughing. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

Benny grins. “You’re a hard face to forget, Winchester.”

“No,” Dean decides with a swiftness that would do Han Solo proud, squeezing Benny’s hand, “get your dancing shoes back on ‘cos we’re going to prom whether those heteronormative handjobs like it or not.”

“Uh oh.”

Dean swivels to look into his rear view and the back seat before his eyes rest on Benny quizzically. “What?”

“I think I might be falling in love with you.”

Dean scoffs, “Save it for the dance floor, babe,” but as he chances a glance at Benny again, those smiling sapphires poking out underneath the real smile pushing his light golden stubble, Dean squeezes his hand again and thinks over the dulling tick of the bomb, _Me too._


	2. Postcards from the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benny stares up at him, not anticipating but not waiting. Dean inclines his head to the right as an outside voice stirs him from his checklist yes: “Benny?”
> 
> Benny turns around, met by a Greek girl in a sequined sky blue dress with a bare midriff. Her wavy brown hair spills over her transparent turtleneck like something out of a modest Victoria’s Secret catalogue.
> 
> Dean doesn’t recognize her from around school, but judging by the wide eyes and gobsmacked expression, Benny does—a little too well. “Andrea?”

“ _Wow_ ,” Dean breathes, standing outside the ballroom entrance.

The room is loud in both color and music—the kind that’s put to better use as white noise rather than electric shock beneath his feet—with blues blending like watercolor paints into hot pinks and purples across acres of beige marble floor. The tables are draped in loose-fitting white dresses—like the one Tom Petty swathed Mary Jane in in 1993—while those who aren’t on the dance floor chat amongst their nosey selves.

More than a few heads snap in their direction, but it’s hard to focus when Dean’s is trained on one person in the room. He has a finely trimmed head of hair and a beard spread like galaxies across and around his mouth. His build is lean, though his broad shoulders depict otherwise, and the white corsage tucked into the pocket of his navy blue suit matches his lopsided smile. He’s quite literally breath-taking with blindsiding blue eyes and warm hands—the kind of guy you’d book an entire assembly for just to ask to prom.

“Hey, you good?” Benny whispers in his ear. The smell of peppermint and store-bought cologne crowds his thoughts all at once, allowing him to ease into his skin again.

Dean nods, keeping Benny close enough to touch foreheads. “Scout’s Honor.”

“Scout’s Honor,” Benny replies, squeezing his hand before their first victims approach.

Castiel whistles a pitch high enough to attract dogs, “Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. and Mr. Right themselves.” Beside him is Nora, Castiel’s shift leader at the Gas N’ Sip, donning a backless, floor-sweeping red dress to match her date’s red and black tuxedo. She nods respectfully when Cas formally introduces her. “You look terrible,” he comments, smirking at Dean.

“Thanks for that,” he sneers. “You, on the other hand, you look good.”

Cas shrugs with a satisfied smile. “It’s my specialty.”

“Wait, aren’t you the guy who held up the prom sign at the assembly?” Benny cuts in.

Cas clutches his chest. “Another one of my adoring fans,” he gushes, then leans into Benny’s personal space, saying in a voice barely above a whisper: “I expect him to be on his best behavior, do you hear me? If he doesn’t come out of the little boy’s room after five minutes, you call me. I know for a fact his penis is _not_ —”

“Alright, Kojak,” Dean interjects sharply, “hit the punch table, Benny and I are gonna tango on the dancefloor for a little while.”

He scoffs as he exits the scene for the ocean of blurry flesh ahead of them. Benny’s eyebrows taper. “What?”

“Nothing,” he reassures, taking both of Benny’s hands in his, “I just can’t believe I’m here with you.”

“Would you like me to leave or—?”

Dean can’t remember the last time he snorted through a laugh—it definitely wasn’t lost in the sea of Benny Lafitte’s eyes—but he lightly shoves their joint hands into Benny’s chest, earning him a shy smile. Then Benny shoves back and somehow they’re face to face with one another. Not just close enough to touch foreheads, but for their months to do the “Time Warp”.

Benny stares up at him, not anticipating but not waiting. Dean inclines his head to the right as an outside voice stirs him from his checklist yes: “Benny?”

Benny turns around, met by a Greek girl in a sequined sky blue dress with a bare midriff. Her wavy brown hair spills over her transparent turtleneck like something out of a modest Victoria’s Secret catalogue.

Dean doesn’t recognize her from around school, but judging by the wide eyes and gobsmacked expression, Benny does—a little too well. “Andrea?”

“It’s been a while,” she says. She chances the quickest glance at Dean before turning back to Benny, who’s shaking his head disbelievingly.

“You look beautiful,” he acknowledges winded. “I thought you transferred to Overland Park.”

“I did, I’m just here with So-So and the gang,” Andrea replies, pushing back a curl to reveal a pink stripe running down her temple. “Desmond invited me.”

They’re not holding hands anymore, but Dean can still feel the iceberg that spikes his blood like the flu. Soon, Benny pales all over. Andrea bites her lip just in time to be pulled away from the oncoming shipwreck, disappearing into the thick of her friends with a kind parting, leaving Dean to deal with the wreckage.

“Benny?” he gentles.

As if on command, the back of Benny’s hand brushes Dean’s, leaving Dean chasing after his warmth. Dean takes that as his cue, intertwining their fingers again. He’s still egg white, judging from his side profile, but his brain doesn’t seem to be completely scrambled.

Dean’s afraid to prod, so instead he guides him out of the ballroom until all the white noise Benny can hear is the cadence of his heart beating loud and proud for the beautiful boy he calls his date.


	3. Flesh for Fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What?” Benny asks, dumbstruck.
> 
> “You, that’s what,” he explicates, grinding his teeth, “you look so goddamn gorgeous sitting on this balcony with the stars hitting your back and your eyes so fucking bright, it’s not fair.”

Dean sits Benny on the balcony of the garish third floor of the hotel. He looks a day away from shrugging off Dean’s coat draped around his shoulders despite the frigid air, but chooses to shift his focus to the sky where stars are sprinkled on a dark backdrop like sugar on fresh cannolis.

Dean pulls up a ratty looking chair, but before he can sit down gets dragged by the tongue of his tie into Benny’s mouth. He’s definitely cooled off since he hit that iceberg, supple lips moving in tandem with Dean’s own to create the perfect lifeboat as Dean clings to him, desperate for survival.

Benny’s hand travels through his hair before eventually resting on his tie again. “’M sorry,” he mumbles against newly flushed skin. Dean laughs weakly.

“That’s hardly something to be sorry for in my book.”

“We had a Scout’s Honor. It’s just…I…I’m not usually—”

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Benny,” Dean says, thumbs acting as a windshield wiper against his hips. He makes sure to look him in the eye when he says this. “You don’t owe me anything, either.”

Benny sucks in a stuttered breath. “Andrea and I were together some few moons ago,” he begins, swallowing. “I broke it off because I told her I was in love with Desmond, her very _male_ best friend, and that I didn’t want to be seein’ someone when I was with her, my mama didn’t raise me like that.

“She called me a fag—which I know to be true now—and told me to never speak to her again. Then Desmond started seein’ other people behind my back. He called me a prude whenever he came to school shitfaced and reeking of some other guy’s shitty cologne.” Benny scoffs, “I got dished what I was servin’, that’s for sure.”

Dean braved keeping eye contact through the end of the story. It wasn’t Benny’s eyes that were pooling with tears, though. “What?” Benny asks, dumbstruck.

“ _You_ , that’s what,” he explicates, grinding his teeth, “you look so goddamn gorgeous sitting on this balcony with the stars hitting your back and your eyes so fucking bright, it’s not fair.”

Dean whips his head before he can see the smile spreading across Benny’s face like butter on crispy toast. Reaching into his pocket, he fishes out his MP3 and searches through the myriad songs, the white screen illuminating his wet face.

“What’re you doing?”

“Tell you one fucking thing, you _do_ owe me a dance,” Dean retorts with a sniffle, lending out his hand.

Benny takes it as Dean slips one bud into Benny’s ear and one into his own. Benny’s hands find Dean’s waist as Dean’s wrap around his neck, breathing in Benny’s intoxicating scent before they begin to sway. With Benny’s temple softly knocking his cheek like a church bell in the dead of night, Dean feels like he’s soaring.

“Catch My Fall” plays on repeat well into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the food analogies, I must have had a bad case of the munchies near the end. I'm going to go eat now. 
> 
> Nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
